I wanted to take the time to make a point about this book more clear. As stated in the description, this book's original title was "Aus Der Traum." Naturally, the entire plot was rewritten to better fit the Fantasy genre. The old plot didn't quite live up to its genre, as I mentioned in the announcement I've provided, but I'm sure this amended version will do just well. Although the language in the original version is displayed in English, the characters are speaking German. It's like watching an anime with English subtitles but with the characters speaking in their original tongue. For the convenience of my primarily English-speaking audience, this is also the case. And with that, I'm pleased to reintroduce this book.
With best wishes,
ThatLittleCreature
April 5, 1925. Quedlinburg, Germany.
THE MELLOW WARMTH of the rising sun slowly enveloped the town of Quedlinburg, warming the surrounding countryside. The morning light came through a single window in a small house tucked away in the town and fell on the face of a small boy who was fast asleep. The boy's face was directly in the direction of the sun's rays, which were unaffected by the curtains or blinds and created a golden path across the room.
The youngster groaned softly as he hesitantly opened his eyes to the unwanted intrusion of dawn, his tranquil dreams gently disrupted. This practice was nothing new, despite the annoyance; it was a typical sign of the day to come. He was both annoyed and resigned when he answered the morning call, realizing that this day, like many others before it, required his attention. He muttered under his breath, wishing wildly that the unrelenting brightness would go away, knowing that some things were easier said than done.
Meinrad's sudden awakening had nothing to do with the sound of footsteps arriving from outside or background noise from his brother and sister's shared bedroom. Rather, it was the persistent tapping on his bedroom door that drew him out of sleep. He was startled into consciousness by the boom that reverberated in his ears.
“Meinrad? Meinrad?” came the voice from the other side of the wooden door, echoing through the room with repeated raps. Meinrad chose to remain silent despite being completely aware, a conscious decision to pretend to be partially awake. Like every child who is reluctant to face the day, all he wanted was to spend a little longer under the blankets, cocooned in the comfort of slumber. However, Meinrad's situation was unique, and he was unable to afford the luxury of a protracted break.
The need to get up wasn't a biological demand pulsing through Meinrad's limbs; rather, it was a fatherly directive from Pankraz. Unlike any conventionally depicted autocrat, Pankraz was a ray of sunshine, his manner expressing love and affection for his family. He had a true affection for his wife, his kids, and even Pankraz's father, who had lived with them for a long time, inside the modest walls of their Quedlinburg home. Pankraz's humility remained steadfast, even though their financial situation did not make them the richest family in the community, or a part of any of the rich families in the community of Quedlinburg.
He stood outside Meinrad's bedroom, understanding the reluctance that was visible through the closed door. There was the underlying awareness that even though Meinrad didn't feel ready to face the day, he had to. Their lives are governed by the need for jobs and education, which makes even the most loving parent gently nudge his son into the real world.
During a time when it would have been considered strange by society's standards to have children working, it was not uncommon. The conditions that prevailed at the time frequently required young people to obtain employment, regardless of the hazards, low compensation, or the humiliation that came with it. People who took on these kinds of tasks were usually between the ages of ten and fifteen. But thanks to his father's orchestration, Meinrad was forced into the workforce before he turned ten years old.
The family's economic situation was difficult, giving Meinrad and his father little work options. As Meinrad's father turned the doorknob to his son's bedroom, the call to rise reverberated through their home's walls, cognizant of the problems faced by the family. His father's mild persuasion took place against the backdrop of the room he shared with his younger brother and sister. “Meinrad, it's time to get out of bed,” his father said, peeping through the slightly ajar doorway.
Well-groomed blonde hair gave his face a refined appearance and highlighted the slight signs of growing older. A few lines carved into his face didn't appear to lessen the appeal of his rough charm, but instead made it more appealing. Well-groomed blonde hair gave an air of refined coarseness that blended in perfectly with the natural roughness of his face. His eyes were a striking hue of piercing blue that reflected the expanse of an open sky, with depths that suggested untold tales. A cunning smirk played at the corners of his lips beneath the brim of a flat cap, exposing a sardonic sense of humor ingrained in the subtleties of his expressions. He strode with a sophisticated grace, wearing a brown coat that was stylish and oozed subtle elegance. A dapper white dress shirt showed through, a dramatic contrast that emphasized his fusion of traditional style and modern flair. Perfectly fitted grayish pants flowed to the cuffs, where his black shoes reflected the quiet assurance in every step. This man exuded an unquestionable grace that was delicately exhibited in every action.
Meinrad said, “Ugh, yes, Father?” at last giving in to the urge to wake up. He threw away his blankets and met his father's gaze with weary eyes while idly teasing his blond hair into a disheveled mess. Pankraz pushed open the door and entered the room, saying, “It's time to wake up, Meinrad! Come on, get up.” He took up position in the middle, surveying the two beds, one of which Meinrad had to himself, the other being shared by his younger brother and sister. The family had to make do with the current arrangement because they were unable to afford to purchase an extra bed.
While Meinrad reveled in the luxury of having a bed all to himself, the younger siblings oddly seemed unaffected by the shared sleeping quarters. But even in that thought, he was genuinely generous, thinking out loud that if the roles were reversed, he wouldn't mind sharing his bed. He was against the concept of any of his siblings sleeping on the floor, and his parents felt the same way, refusing to even consider the possibility.
Still, there was more to the obstacle of getting Meinrad's younger sister another bed than just money; room was a major factor. The small room hardly had space for the furnishings that were in it.
A dresser stood out; it held Meinrad's clothes as well as the clothes of his sister and younger brother, piled high in an unorganized mess. Toys were scattered around, and a bookshelf and a closet completed the room's inventory. The shelf, meant to hold literary gems, held a poor assortment of books, eclipsed by a variety of toys. Meinrad took comfort from the pages of the few books he owned, some of which were written by the Brothers Grimm, despite the lopsided ratio. The dark humor and entertainment value of the Brothers Grimm stories appealed to Meinrad even as a young child. The stories' inclusion of anthropomorphic creatures, which gave his appreciation of literature a new depth, revealed still another degree of intrigue.
Meinrad was still fascinated by the enigmatic attraction of creatures with human characteristics, a fascination he was unable to fully understand. Thinking on the strange characteristics of these animal-human hybrids, Meinrad frequently wondered about the tendency of people to find amusement in these fanciful creations—creatures who straddle the line between human and animal existence, an odd combination that at times seemed downright repulsive. The idea hovered there, bringing an air of strangeness to his reflections. It seemed strange to him to even consider living inside the psyche of a creature that was half animal, half human. Seeing such creatures in the real world would surely be an odd sight.
Meinrad accepted that anthropomorphic animals were fictitious, but he couldn't help but wonder if they did exist, would they be as intelligent as the literature suggested, or would they turn into vicious creatures who were only motivated by a ravenous appetite for human flesh and wreaked havoc on the world? His thoughts about those creatures as possible ‘monsters’ sprang from stories he had heard as a child, especially from his mother reading Little Red Riding Hood. Looking back, it seemed funny to call himself ‘little,’ as he was small in stature rather than age.
When Meinrad's mother read Little Red Riding Hood to him, his understanding of anthropomorphic animals merged with that of the story's antagonist, The Wolf—a being that embodied both a shrewd personality and a hideous form.
After the wolf ate Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother and then the girl, Meinrad was left with the impression that all anthropomorphic animals were by nature ‘vicious monsters.’ The story's ending, in which the woodsman intervened, brought some relief, but the image of The Wolf as a terrifying creature remained in Meinrad's mind. That view, however, gradually changed as Meinrad read more stories about anthropomorphic animals. Even though not all of these creatures were presented in a negative light, a common trend surfaced: they were almost always represented as monsters in these tales.
Still, Meinrad had great relaxation and enjoyment in the straightforward activity of reading, and he especially enjoyed novels that portrayed anthropomorphic animals. Meinrad perceived his propensity as a break from the banality of a world dominated by narratives focused on humans, even though others could disregard it as quirky or strange. He believed that interactions with non-human creatures were uncommon since humans were so commonplace in everyday life. The idea of seeing creatures that disregarded the accepted limits of speaking, walking on two feet, and thinking like humans caused an unanticipated unease—a disturbance that went beyond the visual domain to disturb the basic structure of human perception and intellect.
For Meinrad, exploring the realm of anthropomorphic animals was a welcome diversion from the commonplace and a singularly appealing break from the routine of daily life.
There is a startling disparity when you watch animals with human-like characteristics conversing coherently. The uncomfortable challenge to the existing understanding of the natural order is prompted by the sharp distinction between their innate animalistic shape and the fluency of human discourse.
Cartoons are a world where the combination of human and animal traits has a whimsical beauty that contrasts with the unsettling reality that such a scenario would bring. Luckily, Meinrad took comfort in the knowledge that these oddities were limited to the animated realm and were not indicative of the harsh realities of everyday life. The idea of human-like creatures navigating the everyday world stayed safely contained in Meinrad's well-loved novels.
When Meinrad's father gave him some advice on his first day of school, he said, “You stick to them books, boy.” And stick he did. To Meinrad's ignorance, his father's remarks were a kind reminder to walk the straight and narrow and to stay out of trouble while living under his father's roof. But Meinrad took the advice literally and developed a true love of reading, especially fiction, where the possibilities for the imagination were endless.
Meinrad carried with him the serious lessons his father had taught him—a moving lesson in appreciating the gifts life had to give. “You better learn to love what you have, Meinrad. Mark my words, this world will do whatever it takes to take everything and everyone you love someday, and you better make sure you keep something you love hidden from the world because it will take it as well. You hide it from the world, and you keep it to yourself because, as I said, the world will do whatever it takes to take whatever it is that you love from you.” Meinrad absorbed these phrases, comprehending the profound message they contained. As a result, he wisely used his time, spending quality time with his family. Even if Meinrad's life lacked the luxuries that many people desire, the existence of his family made such financial goals meaningless. For him, family was more important than everything in this world. Meinrad was determined to fulfill this promise, but life's erratic turns occasionally revealed intentions that were unanticipated for each individual and went against one's wishes.
Reluctantly getting out of bed, Meinrad moaned, “Do I have to? It just seems like so much to do.” This was a question that had come to him every morning, and he always got the same answer from his father. “‘So much to do?’” his father asked, laughing heartily and pressing his hand to his chest. His father teased him with a lighthearted laugh before heading back through the doorway, the sound of the door closing securely behind him. “Meinrad, for God's sake, you've only been working since you turned what, 9? Meh, talk to me when you've put in as many years as I have. Now, come on, your mother has breakfast ready, and she's waiting for you, your brother, and your sister to come downstairs. I've got to get you to school, and you've got work after that, so, get yourself ready and wake up your brother and sister. Those two are some real heavy sleepers,” he said.
With hands clasped together and a placid expression on his face, Meinrad leaned back on the edge of his bed. He let out a silent groan and found the will to get out of bed, forgoing the comforts of his bed and skipping his socks.
Drawing up to his younger sibling, Meinrad began a ferocious shake, his alarm tempered with a firm “Hey, wake up!” His brother's body jerked, eyes flitting in a panic before landing on Meinrad. As Meinrad's shaking continued, his panic turned to annoyance. Meinrad returned with a casual wave, unaffected by the reproach. Meinrad casually gestured to his brother to rouse Thekla, the youngest Pappert sibling, who was still wrapped in her duvet of sleep. “Come on, get up. And while you're at it, wake Thekla too.”
“You didn't have to wake me up like that, you know,” complained Siegfried, Meinrad's brother, clearly irritated at the less-than-gentle awakening. Apart from the sudden wake-up call, the annoying thing was Meinrad's obvious lack of awareness of the disruption he had caused. Siegfried didn't know this, or maybe he did know but ignored it, but there was some truth to his annoyance—Meinrad didn't give a damn.
Though love for his brother remained, it was not strong enough to inspire real concern for Siegfried's complaints. Meinrad had already left, unfazed by the continuous reproach, with shoes and socks clenched in one hand and a change of clothes tucked under his armpit, leaving the angry Siegfried to air his complaints to a partially empty room.
After several minutes, Meinrad came out of the restroom, fiddling with the collar and taking great care to get his brown jacket just so. He was about to head downstairs for breakfast when it dawned on him that he had neglected his hair. Meinrad felt obliged to appear something presentable to the outside world, even if he couldn't possibly expect praise for the way it looked. He turned around and headed back into the bathroom, ignoring any possible criticism. Meinrad looked blankly into the mirror, meeting his reflection's gaze in a dispassionate conversation between two images. Gently running his fingers through his blonde hair, he managed to get some kind of structure back into it. Even if it wasn't ideal, it was good enough to start the day.
Meinrad walked out of the bathroom, satisfied, and downstairs. His fall was followed by the audible creaking of every step, the wooden railing strong and warm to the touch. Presumably, in his absence, his father, siblings, and the rest of the family had gathered downstairs for breakfast.
When Meinrad did eventually make his way downstairs to eat breakfast, he was met with the predictable sight of his family sitting down to breakfast already, his absence. Strangely enough, he didn't seem very annoyed by the belated welcome. It was breakfast, after all, an insignificant thing. However, he secretly understood the importance of eating breakfast. He heard the chorus of family pleasantries as he made his way halfway down the steps.
Even in their pajamas, Thekla and Siegfried were not affected by the need to go to school because of their little resources. Their mother, Brunhilde, acted as their homeschooling mentor, teaching them inside their small house. Meinrad, on the other hand, relished the dual luxury of going to school, which he found both endearing and disagreeable.
The former resulted from schooling, whereas the latter was caused by an internal conflict about wanting to support the family financially. Meinrad's parents were firmly against his leaving school too soon, even if he wanted to work. The significant amount that Meinrad's family spent on his education added to this internal conflict. Thank goodness Meinrad's work allowed for an excused leave of absence, which reduced his required school hours.
“Oh, good morning, my love!” Meinrad's mother Brunhilde exclaimed, clearly warmly. She hurried to the stairs, waiting for him to arrive, her arms out in a welcoming manner. Brunhilde embraced Meinrad as he came down, a simple morning hug that spoke a great deal of maternal love.
In the pretty little kitchen, old glamour blended with the early morning light, illuminating her face with a radiance that seemed to withstand the passing of time. Natural blonde hair that resembled spun gold threads softly framed a youthfully radiant face despite bearing faint signs of aging. Her face was marked with lines that described all that she had gathered along the way, each adding a layer of depth to the image of her life. However, her eyes, which were a vivid blue that reflected the infinite sky, exuded a lively vitality that was unaffected by the passage of time.
She put her hair up in a casual bun at the nape of her neck with such easy elegance that a few defiant strands fluttered around her face. Two split bangs on either side of her temple completed the ensemble and gave her a whimsical air. Wearing a blue blouse with puffed sleeves and shoulders, the waist was carefully tied to a long black skirt that flowed with every little motion. Her crimson neckerchief stood out as a striking contrast to the immaculate white apron that was carefully fastened around her waist. She was wearing two stylish black high-heeled boots that added a little assurance to her every step as she moved across the room.
When Brunhilde finally managed to free Meinrad from her warm embrace, she added a gentle kiss to her show of affection for him. Even while Meinrad loved the custom of morning embraces and forehead kisses, it frequently caused him to feel conflicted. Every morning was a unique occasion because of the reassuring constancy of his mother's love.
However, Meinrad struggled with the feeling that the routine felt a bit repetitious at times. Even with these contradicting feelings, he never expressed a wish for his mother to stop the morning ritual. He was held back by two things: the knowledge that she was, after all, his mother and his fear of upsetting her.
Meinrad knew in his heart that he would miss the comfortable routine if it were to end. He eventually came to accept the everyday gesture, if not fully appreciate it. Even though Meinrad had a twinge of self-perceived maturity, a feeling that he could be past these kinds of gestures of affection, he couldn't dispute the eternal happiness that came from his mother's embraces and kisses. For him, these times continued to be the highlight of getting out of bed in the morning.
“Please have a seat, my love. I've cooked breakfast,” said Brunhilde with a smile, putting an arm around Meinrad and leading him to the table where his relatives had already taken their seats. A typical German breakfast in 1925 reflected the social, cultural, and economic climate of the day. For the most part, Germans throughout this time kept their morning meal modest yet filling. The main attraction was freshly made bread or rolls, frequently served with copious amounts of butter and a variety of preserves or honey. Other mainstays included cheese, cured meats, and hard-boiled eggs, providing a high-protein breakfast.
Coffee was a mainstay of the breakfast beverage selection, a reliable option that was served on tables in its powerful, black form. While there were supporters of tea, its place in German breakfast culture was subordinated to that of coffee. The robust brew was enhanced by the traditional milk addition to coffee, which satisfied a variety of palates. Hot cocoa might have been a pleasant and cozy choice in the morning ritual for those who chose a lighter option.
The availability of food goods was severely impacted by the post-World War I economic landscape, which permeated everyday family life. People in this era of scarcity resorted to using inexpensive, locally sourced products to get through difficult times. As a seasonal treat, fresh fruits gained popularity and were a sought-after addition to breakfast tables, symbolizing the passage of the seasons. In the meantime, to satisfy hunger as well as nutritional requirements, porridge or muesli made with a combination of grains, oats, and dried fruits became a popular choice for breakfast. These generous and ingenious decisions demonstrated the realistic stance that families took in the face of financial hardship.
Against the conditions of economic hardship and post-war reconstruction, a German breakfast in 1925 became something of a modest but substantial feast. Based on the idea of simplicity, this breakfast dish promoted components that were readily available in the area and represented a collective effort to deal with the unpredictabilities of the moment. A practical approach was required due to the prevalent mentality, wherein ingenuity and perseverance came together to create a breakfast that demonstrated the resilient nature of a society rising out of the aftermath of war and economic crisis.
The familiar faces of Meinrad's family sat around the table: his father Pankraz, his younger brother Siegfried, the youngest sibling Thekla, and the children's paternal grandfather Dagobert Pappert, who served as an anchor throughout the generations. Dagobert was the oldest member of the Pappert family and a paternal figure whose presence imbued the family portrait with a modicum of wisdom.
Even still, the family was aware of the mystery that surrounded Dagobert, even though they had refrained from exploring the quirks that made him unique. Dagobert was reticent to say anything at all unless someone approached him directly or he was moved by an erratic impulse. Dagobert was a difficult person for the family, especially the three Pappert kids, to communicate with because he was a quiet person who avoided eye contact. Dagobert was rarely seen speaking, whether he was sitting in his room or the living room in a rocking chair, staring out of the front window. He appeared to have a voice that he tended to hide and only occasionally reveal.
When he did decide to speak, the other members of the family would assemble to try and figure out what he was trying to say. Dagobert continued to be mysterious, making the other family members ponder where his guarded nature came from. Maybe eventually the enigma around him would start to come to light.
“So, uh, how did everyone wake up this morning?” As he helped himself to an assortment of hard-boiled eggs and cured meats that decorated the breakfast buffet, Meinrad asked. Thekla answered, her voice beautiful and pleasant, capturing the curiosity and purity of childhood. “I woke up fine, I guess.”
Meinrad looked at the mysterious man, trying to draw Dagobert into the morning conversation. As expected, Dagobert said nothing, his eyes glued to his breakfast with a look that defied simple reading. His face was mysterious, with his eyebrows slightly down and a small frown lightly pursed. The fact that Dagobert remained silent didn't indicate rudeness; rather, it betrayed a mystery to him alone.
Absorbing the unspoken dynamics at the breakfast table, Meinrad returned his attention to his plate and let the comforting sounds of family conversation wash over him. The brief silence was quickly broken by their usual animated chat, which preceded Meinrad's departure for school and his father's departure for work.
“Okay, my dear, I'm off!” Pankraz exclaimed as the time to depart drew near. He pulled Brunhilde into his arms and kissed her tenderly to end their time together. “Have a good day, darling!” In return, Brunhilde looked lovingly at Meinrad. She smiled softly and bent down to give Meinrad another little kiss on the forehead. “And you have a good day too, my little Meinrad.” Meinrad gave his mother an affectionate embrace in return. “You too, mother,” he answered, his voice full of affection. “You two, please behave yourselves,” Pankraz said, his tone tenderly but firmly admonishing. He addressed the other Pappert children, who nodded in response. Pankraz gave his father Dagobert a serious look before he left. Dagobert's expression was still ashen, his eyes fixed on the dish in front of him. Pankraz sighed quietly and ushered Meinrad out, shutting the door behind them as they started their new day.
“Father,” Meinrad said as they strolled along the street, passing a diverse array of individuals going about their daily lives, some of them early risers and others just getting started. They were all walking at different speeds; some were ambling along the trail, while others were moving quickly. There were more parents in the crowd, following in Pankraz's footsteps as he escorted Meinrad to school. Pankraz's first duty, fashioned by familial love, was to make sure Meinrad arrived at school safely before going to work. Meinrad's work schedule required him to take an excused absence, which resulted in his school hours being reduced. Meinrad's employment, in contrast to a normal manufacturing job, brought him to a developing farm near Quidlenburg that was still in the early stages of development.
The work at hand was simple: building fences, taking care of the cows, pitching in when help was needed. While the tasks may have sounded onerous for somebody of Meinrad's age, he was compelled to perform these farm activities to provide a concrete means of income for his family.
“Yes, Meinrad?” Pankraz answered, his strong hand encircling Meinrad's small hand as they walked down the street in the direction of Meinrad's school. The inquiry that fell out of Meinrad's mouth hung there, unsettled the steady silence that separated them. “Why doesn't Grandfather Dagobert speak so much?” With a thoughtful expression on his face, Pankraz stared off into the distance, leaving the question hanging in the air for a brief period. With a laugh, Pankraz ended the silence and answered Meinrad's question.
“Oh Meinrad, don't worry about him. Your grandfather is simply angry over having to part with a few things from the past. Leaving things behind is difficult, particularly if you don't want to or they are too significant. When forced to make a decision, he went with his family. Though it may not always be evident, he loves you and your siblings. He's just disappointed, as I mentioned, that he had to leave some things behind.” Pankraz's answer satisfied him somewhat, but a nagging doubt kept nagging at Meinrad's mind. Was it a family secret too important for little ears, or a concealed disability? The mystery only grew more intriguing, sowing the seeds of Meinrad's search for explanations.
“You mean, like... Grandmother?” The seriousness of Meinrad's question caused a slight shift in the mood. Taken aback, Pankraz remained silent. It aimed at an area of Pankraz's background that he didn't often revisit. There were many unknowns about his mother, Meinrad's grandma. Her name remained unclear, but he could imagine her face. She might have been happy about the idea of being a grandma, but she was no longer around to see it happen. Pankraz answered in a reassuring tone, careful not to put Meinrad under any more stress. "Nothing like that," he reassured Meinrad softly, hoping to allay any anxiety that had come into his mind.
Meinrad felt at that same moment that there were answers he could not yet find. But amid the unanswered mysteries, the knowledge of Dagobert's affection for the family provided a consoling anchor.
Meinrad and Pankraz took a quick stroll through the town and found the school tucked away between a grocery store and a bar, which the kids were advised to stay away from. Pankraz led Meinrad to the main entrance of the school and through the iron gates that surrounded the haven for education. Pankraz stopped Meinrad before he could enter and knelt, putting his hands gently on Meinrad's shoulders.
“You'll have a good day as always, yes?” Pankraz asked with a gentle face. “Of course I will, Father,” Meinrad assuredly answered. With a pleasant smile on his face, Pankraz gave Meinrad a final hug, which his son returned. “Remember, when it's time for you to leave for work, let your teachers know, alright?” Pankraz patted Meinrad's head kindly. With a nod of comprehension from Meinrad, they bid each other goodbye and parted ways, Meinrad heading to school and Pankraz heading to work.
●
Meinrad couldn't help but watch the clock as the school day went on, awaiting the hours that would soon signal the start of his work shift. Instead of having a meal of his own during what would have been noon for others, Meinrad became engrossed in the ticking hands of the clock. It seems that he frequently disregarded or forgot to eat lunch due to his hectic schedule of two jobs. Even though Meinrad had mixed feelings about school, he felt a slight sense of satisfaction as the clock indicated that the school day was almost finished. It turned out that he wasn't the only child in this situation; other students also had to leave early to attend to their professions. Meinrad had been accustomed to this reality: a common battle among youthful shoulders weighted down by financial necessity. Working at such a young age wasn't unusual; rather, it was a practical reaction to the challenging economic environment.
For Meinrad, surviving meant earning a living for his family. The Pappert family worked together to provide the food on their table and shelter over their heads, and even at his young age, Meinrad took up a share of the duty.
With the fatigue of a long day visible on his face, Meinrad headed home as the afternoon sun started to set. The ride back was a combination of innocuous exhaustion and the dull aching that comes with physical activity.
The farm, which was close to Meinrad's Quedlinburg residence, required his whole attention and dedication. Meinrad was given a variety of jobs essential to the farm's functioning, including a wide range of duties vital to the facility's maintenance and efficiency. The farm, yet in its infancy, depended on Meinrad's hands to take care of the different requirements of its changing terrain. Meinrad's contributions were essential to the farm's continuous progress toward complete operation, whether it was with the everyday tasks of tending to cattle, cleaning stables, and making sure they were all healthy.
Meinrad was not only involved in the routine care of the animals on the farm, but he also took an interest in the finer points of field preparation and cultivation. As Meinrad led the horses or mules through the arduous process of plowing, the sound of hooves pounding the dirt accompanied him, demonstrating an unexpected strength and dexterity for a child of his age. Planting and harvesting took center stage due to the seasonal cycles, requiring long days in the sun. Like the experienced farmhands surrounding him, Meinrad worked from sunrise to sunset to ensure a bountiful harvest.
With hands that were used to the earth, he assumed responsibility for the upkeep of the farm's machinery, fixing tools, and making sure that every tool operated without a hitch. In addition, Meinrad worked on crucial projects including constructing and maintaining fences and cleaning fields of dirt and rocks, all of which improved the productivity of the farm as a whole.
Meinrad was engrossed in post-harvest operations, moving beyond the repetitive labor of the fields and into activities requiring new abilities. The process of carefully separating the grains from the harvested plants—threshing—became commonplace. Meinrad's hands deftly threaded through the crops, guaranteeing a successful extraction because they were used to the feel of the terrain. His attention turned to getting the harvested produce ready for the market as the seasons changed. Sorting, washing, and packing turned become necessary phases in the painstaking procedure, each of which demonstrated Meinrad's dedication to the farm's prosperity. The aroma of the fragrant air hinted at laborious days and unwavering devotion as Meinrad contributed to the farm's growing agricultural harmony.
Meinrad walked weary towards his house, expecting an ordinary evening, but instead, he saw a scene of unexpected sadness. The normal sounds of preparing dinner had given way to an uncomfortable silence, and everything had taken on an unspoken heaviness. Meinrad discovered a tragic scene in the middle of this eerie silence. Meinrad's little sister Thekla, with a broken expression and pain in her eyes that he had not expected, was being held by his father Pankraz. His younger brother Siegfried was standing next to them, both of them with the same hopeless expression. With tears running down his face, Pankraz consoled Thekla, while Brunhilde, Meinrad's mother, put consoling hands on Siegfried's shoulders with a sympathetic yet sorrowful look. Meinrad felt uneasy and full of unanswered questions since the mood seemed to loom large over an unsaid tragedy.
The mood suddenly changed as Meinrad got closer to the door, and his family members' faces conveyed the enormity of an approaching tragedy. His mother, Brunhilde, motioned for him to approach with urgency. “Meinrad, there you are!” she shouted, a hint of concern in her voice. Meinrad ran to the front door, but he couldn't get rid of the uneasy sensation he had. “What's going on?” he asked, glancing between his family's expressions. There was a long, somber pause before his father, Pankraz, found the courage to say something. “It's your grandfather,” he said, taking a moment to collect his feelings. “I'm afraid... he's... he's dying.” The already depressing situation was made even more so by the words that lingered in the silence. Thekla sobbed uncontrollably on her father's shoulders as she lost control of her sorrow. Leaning on Thekla for comfort, Pankraz too broke down in tears. Siegfried did not say anything, his eyes locked on the floor, as Brunhilde comforted him. The news that Dagobert would soon pass away had transformed their house into a place of grief and uncertainty.
Meinrad was rendered speechless and confused by the news, which came over him like a tidal wave. “What?!” he cried out, his eyes bulging with shock and a sharp pain in his chest. “Where is he?!” Meinrad's words had an urgency that filled the space around him. In an attempt to gather herself, Brunhilde answered, “He's inside. He... he refuses to speak with anyone else. He said he would only talk to you. He seemed adamant about it, and I'm not sure why he won't.” She said that then softly opened the door and took a quick look inside. “Dagobert, it's Meinrad. He has returned.” Meinrad steeled himself for the talk his ailing grandfather would give him.
From within the home came a strained voice with a distinct undertone of pain. It said, “Bring the boy in,” and then began to cough repeatedly, emphasizing how weak the voice was. With a solemn nod, Brunhilde carefully pried open the door and moved aside to let Meinrad in. The living room opened up to him in the gentle glow of the candles as soon as he entered.
A strong sense of sadness pervaded the small room as Meinrad took his seat by his grandfather's bedside. The old man's wrinkled face revealed the effects of a lifetime of challenges, and it was clear that his journey was drawing to an unavoidable end. A melancholy mood reflecting the solemnity of the event was created by the faint flicker of candlelight, which painted a beautiful glow across the room.
“Grandpa Dagobert, are you feeling okay?” Meinrad questioned his tone a mix of innocent childishness and sincere concern. The small youngster wanted to provide some consolation with his question, even though the answer was obvious. With all the effort left in his thin frame, the elderly man forced a weak smile and reached out to tousle Meinrad's hair. “Kiddo, I've experienced my fair share of thrills. However, things must occasionally come to an end.” Meinrad was taken aback by Dagobert's unexpected show of friendliness, as it was a far cry from his customary severe manner. In his later years, the usually quiet grandfather appeared to have lost his hard demeanor and shown a softer side.
“But you're gonna be okay, right?” Meinrad looked at his ailing grandfather, his eyes widening with real concern. The elderly man laughed a little in response, but it was accompanied by a dry cough that he was trying to cover with a weak fist. “No, Meinrad, not this time. My body has too many miles on it, just like an old car. Now is the moment to park it and give the wheel to others.” Meinrad found it difficult to process the approaching death of a person who, like his father, had been a constant in his life, as the analogy depicted the elderly man's painful acceptance of his eventual fate.
Meinrad furrowed his brow as the words of his grandfather weighed hard on his immature shoulders. “But what are we gonna do without you, Grandpa?” The question strewn across the darkened room, the frightened boy's and the old man's faces shadowed by the flickering candlelight. It was an appeal for consolation, a last-ditch effort to accept the impending reality of a world bereft of his grandfather's reassuring presence.
The old guy looked into Meinrad's fresh, sincere eyes, and his own eyes softened. “My little one, you're going to do amazing things. You have your entire life ahead of you, which you will navigate with grace. Please keep in mind that I will be seeing from the greatest seat in the house.” Even with the wear and tear of time, his voice was filled with love and encouragement. In such comments, there was a guarantee of direction, a reassurance that Dagobert would remain a silent observer of Meinrad's life journey even in his absence.
Meinrad gave his granddad a firm embrace while tears filled his eyes. A quiet hush descended upon the room, broken only by the soft crackling sound of the combustion in the fireplace. The elderly man muttered, “Promise me something, Meinrad,” his voice scarcely audible over the muted crackles of the flames. Meinrad answered, “Anything, Grandpa,” his little heart heavy with the impending departure and tinged with a sniffle.
The dying grandfather's thin fingers quivered a little as he reached under the pillow to fetch the enigmatic metallic bell-shaped trinket. It surprised the young kid when he placed it into Meinrad's small hands because of its great weight, which was unexpected for something so small.
“What is it, Grandpa?” Meinrad asked as he turned the metal artifact around in his hands and studied its fine etching. The elderly man grinned, memories teasing his gaze. “This is an heirloom from the family, my dear boy. Since I was slightly older than you are now, it has been with me. Even though it doesn't ring like a bell, it sure does appear like one.” He clarified while hiding a cough that was about to lapse with another weak fist. Meinrad became even more curious. “What does it do, Grandpa?”
The elderly man winced at the exertion and laughed quietly. “Meinrad, it's a keepsake. This was something I would cling to whenever I felt afraid or uncertain. It is a sign of power. Everybody has bravery, even in the worst of times.”
Taking a deep breath, the dying grandfather found the energy to describe the treasured artifact that Meinrad was holding. “I made that relic myself, my little one. Even though I was so young, I was able to make something that would last me a lifetime. It embodies far more than simply a small portion of my history. Even though I carried a lot of memories with me, I will always cherish this small keepsake. It gives us a concrete link to our history rather than just being a family custom. Although it was meant to be inherited by your father, I feel you should continue the legacy. I received a vision that you should carry on this tradition; I'm unsure how or why.”
Sensing the seriousness of the legacy he was about to receive, Meinrad listened closely. “What does it mean, Grandpa?” he inquired, his tone filled with wonder and eagerness.
The elderly man's comments had a profound impact as he talked. His words were broken by bursts of coughing, which continually warned him of his precarious condition. Still, he forced a tired smile, his hands firmly yet reassuringly around Meinrad's.
His voice heavy with wisdom, “It's more than meets the eye, Meinrad,” he whispered. As Meinrad took in his grandfather's words completely, tears began to fall down his cheeks. The artifact he was holding turned into a key to a secretive and important family past. “Cling to it, my little boy.” His grandfather pleaded, “Whatever you do, always keep it with you,” the seriousness of the request visible in his weary eyes. “Assure me that you will not give it to anyone else. It belongs to you and you alone. Would you promise that to me?” Meinrad gave him a nod in response. The elderly man lay back on the bed, a look of fatigue on his face, and he gripped Meinrad's hands just long enough to make a quiet request that the promise be honored.
“Thank you, Grandfather, for everything,” Meinrad murmured his thanks in the quiet silence of the poorly lighted room. He thanked his sick grandfather from the bottom of his heart, his voice shaking with passion. After a long silence that spoke volumes, the old man answered with one last weak squeeze of Meinrad's hands. The room welcomed a deep silence as the moment started to settle. The grandfather drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes, ushering in a somber calm that signified the end of an era.
●
August 15, 1930. Berlin's Westhafen.
Germany was soon to be impacted by the Great Depression. Later on, on February 19, 1929, Meinrad's father passed away in a workplace accident. Later, on February 28, 1929, his mother passed away from old age.
On August 15, 1930, a distraught 17-year-old Meinrad ordered his younger sister and brother—whom he loved with an intense passion as any older brother would—to be placed on a boat to the United States, where they would have better luck once they live with a relative after their family home was taken away to pay off debts. Unbeknownst to Meinrad, this decision would ultimately save their lives. Meinrad was consequently left alone and stranded in Germany. He had just enough money to purchase two transportation tickets with it all.
Meinrad, Siegfried, and Thekla were waiting for the younger siblings' maritime transport on a chilly morning at Berlin's Westhafen. The European herring Gulls overhead resonated with their characteristic calls; the air was crisp. These sly birds had gathered around the three of them, waiting for a scrap of food from the kids. The air was charged with anticipation as they waited for the transport that would take Siegfried and Thekla away, carried by a cool breeze from the ocean.
The European herring Gulls were easily identified by their distinctive markings, which were shown on their strong body and wide wings. Their feathers, a masterful gradation of white, gray, and muted brown, provided both a stylish and practical outfit for their avian activities. The image was made more beautiful by the gulls' graceful interplay of colors, which revealed a pattern of soft hues against the canvas of the sky as the birds spread their wings.
The heads of the European herring Gulls, crowned by a cloak of light-gray feathers, had an appearance of expertise. Their keen, questioning eyes shone from numerous encounters with the constantly shifting seas. The bright yellow beak suggested that the gulls were skilled at seizing food from the sea as well as from land, demonstrating their flexibility and agility in a variety of settings.
The Pappert kids used an unusual means of transportation—a bicycle—to reach Berlin's Westhafen, exhausted and a little wind-beaten. The battered bicycle held more than its typical weight; Meinrad managed to balance with Siegfried sitting behind him and Thekla perched on the handlebar rim. It was almost astonishing that she was able to stay balanced during the grueling voyage. Meinrad pedaled nonstop for ten hours, and although his legs hurt from exhaustion, he was driven to get to the town quickly to take the ferry to the United States. Though tired, Meinrad's concentration never teetered—missing the boat was not an option—it was simply not something he could afford to do.
The lively commotion on the docks intensified as the ferry eventually arrived. Not only were Siegfried and Thekla getting ready to leave, but several people appeared to be leaving the country quickly, carrying heavy bags. Meinrad was perplexed by the scenario; the crowd's apparent eagerness with which they left suggested the same goal. Meinrad concluded that even though he didn't know why, it didn't worry him. Maybe it was a group holiday, or a sequence of personal travels to coincide with Siegfried and Thekla's departure. But the motives for their actions couldn't have been more dissimilar—a letter that Meinrad had received disclosed a debt that his mother had incurred. In a strange turn of events, their mother's death prevented anyone from taking on the obligation, therefore their family house was asserted as payment for the balance.
Meinrad had only heard about their aunt's existence once, but she was the one who wrote the letter. His mother said she had only been living with them for a short time before moving to the United States and becoming a successful writer. With money tight, Meinrad could only hope that Thekla and Siegfried would have enough to move to the United States and start over with their rich aunt, while he considered sticking behind to mourn the losses.
Thekla, on the other hand, felt differently, and Siegfried echoed her grief. “What's wrong, Thekla?” Meinrad asked, seeing the obvious grief in her expression. Siegfried also had a crushed sorrow on his face. “Why didn't you pack your bags too, Meinrad?” Thekla gazed up at her older brother, tears almost overflowing from her eyes, and her voice faltered. Meinrad's hand, which was clasping hers, tensed up anxiously, a physical expression of the fear that was consuming him.
“Oh... about that.” His nerves seemed to tighten around him with every second that went by, making it more difficult to face the brutal reality. “I... I can't go, I'm sorry,” Meinrad eventually said, his voice faltering with the brunt of his feelings that he was unwilling to express. He tried not to cry even though it was likely he would have, not wanting to show weakness in front of his younger siblings.
“What? Why not? Why not at all?” That was all Thekla could muster. Her countenance betrayed disbelief as she struggled to comprehend the reality that she was being forced to face. She struggled with the fact that her elder brother would not be going with her. She found it hard to believe. With a brief closure of his eyes, Meinrad sighed heavily, understanding that he had hoped to avoid this conversation. Thekla just wasn't interested in understanding, not that she couldn't. Siegfried, on the other hand, appeared to understand the fundamental causes without objecting, despite his serious attitude. He knew why Meinrad was unable to go. It was not a question of wanting; rather, it was unachievable.
With a heavy sigh, Meinrad said, “I just can't, Thekla,” his voice grew serious. Meinrad thought Thekla should finally understand their predicament, even though she was still young.
“I only managed to earn enough cash to purchase two tickets. The idea of abandoning one of you while I and the other sibling traveled to a foreign land was too much for me to handle, and I would never do something like that. No, Thekla; Siegfried and you are leaving, but I'm staying. Sorry, but this might not be your cup of tea. Nothing will change this, so go ahead and kick and scream all you want.” Thekla began to cry, her feelings overtaken by the sudden disclosure.
A few bystanders, and other passengers getting ready to go onto the boat, observed the growing disturbance. They were obviously distressed, but they did not step in, maybe not wanting to provoke Meinrad's wrath. At seventeen he was taller than most, a characteristic that remained mysterious and was perhaps genetic. Still, the onlookers remained silent and watched as Meinrad made his choice.
Thekla, on the edge of tears, muttered, “B-B-But... but Meinrad,” desperate to get Meinrad to come join her and Siegfried. “Thekla, don't you even start with that. You stop doing that right now, do you hear me? Please understand that I am not going. Do you understand that? Nothing you say or do will make me go; I'm not going. Not because I don't want to, but it's because I am unable to. It's your problem, not mine if you are unable to accept that.” With a voice full of outrage and desperation, Meinrad gripped Thekla's shoulders and gave her a startling shake.
Thekla stopped crying, shocked into stillness, but the tears still trickled down her cheeks. The strange wrath in Meinrad's eyes startled her as she looked up at him. Thekla found herself loathing the fact that he had raised his voice at her for the first time. Taking in the tense discussion, Siegfried inhaled sharply and let it out, shaking his head in dismay. While Thekla was too little to understand the nuances, Siegfried knew why Meinrad was unable to accompany them. Still, he felt obliged to step in.
Thekla had her other brother Siegfried traveling with her, so she wasn't going to do it alone. Still, it wasn't enough for her. She was very much looking forward to having all of her siblings travel with her to the United States. She longed for Meinrad to be on the boat with them, even if it was reassuring to think that Siegfried was watching out for her. Meinrad should be with them both, she wished. But she failed to see how impossible such a request would be.
Thekla had no idea that the ticket collector would ask about their tickets when they got to the top of the ramp and that Siegfried and Thekla were the only ones with them. Thekla was not thinking about the mechanics of travel, which made sense for a small child who didn't understand such complexities.
“Thekla, please, please, I'm begging you. Let's avoid making this more complicated than it has to be.” With his hands firmly gripping her small shoulders, Meinrad begged, “Please, just get on the boat.” His shoulders shook with anxiety.
Concurrently, the other travelers, who had been observing the dispute with interest, were beginning to move their bags up the ramp. At the top, the ticket collector made a loud announcement, “Everyone! All of you! Welcome on board! We're about to head out! Ensure that your tickets are prepared for collection! Make sure you say your final goodbyes! America is the next stop on the itinerary!”
“Thekla, just leave, please.” Meinrad shook Thekla gently and begged her to get on the boat before it took off, saying, “I'll be fine.”
“Thekla, come on, we have to go, now.” With a composed yet commanding attitude, Siegfried entered the argument. Right on top of Meinrad's palm, he laid a reassuring yet firm hand on Thekla's shoulder. Thekla looked back at Siegfried with tears in her eyes, and he nodded. With hesitation, she gave in. She threw herself into Meinrad's chest in a final, heartfelt moment, putting her arms around his neck and giving him a final hug. With tears running down his cheeks, Meinrad, who was on the edge of weeping himself, embraced Thekla's diminutive figure. Thekla cried, “I'll miss you so much, Meinrad,” in between intense sobbing. “Thekla, I'll miss you too.” Meinrad muttered, quoting her anguish, “I'll miss you too.”
Meinrad was hugged tightly in return by Siegfried. Meinrad let them go after a little while and motioned for them to board the boat. “Go on, you two. The United States will be a safe place for you. And, please, take this.” Meinrad took out a crumbled-up folded letter from his coat pocket and gave it to Siegfried. “Take that as evidence that you're traveling to the United States to find your aunt. Approach a woman you see holding a sign with your name on it when you arrive, and show her the letter. That is who she is.” Meinrad explained, his countenance steadfast as he looked from Siegfried to Thekla. After reading the letter, Siegfried nodded, his eyes getting a little watery.
Meinrad gave them a last hug before telling them to get their luggage and go on the boat. “You two, hurry up now.” Holding both of their hands, Meinrad persuaded them to get aboard the boat and led the way toward the ramp. Thekla yelled, “Meinrad!” as they were climbing the ramp. “Yes, Thekla?” Meinrad decided to hear Thekla out one more time before saying his sad goodbyes to his younger sister. “I'm sure I'll see you again soon, right? Make a promise to me that I will see you again.” Thekla wished for a commitment that Meinrad was hesitant to give, and her eyes glistened with hope. Meinrad didn't want to tell lies, but he also didn't want to face the hard reality as the uncertain future loomed.
“Of course, Thekla. Someday, you'll see me again. I promise.” Meinrad answered, his pulse pounding at the need for his white lie. It was getting close to the point when it would take off at any moment, so he wanted to get them on the boat as soon as possible.
“Now go ahead, you two. Tell Aunt Odilia that I'm not able to make it if she asks where I am. I could only afford two tickets for each of you, so tell her as much. and let her know how much I cherish her.” Reluctantly, Meinrad took Thekla's hand again and they boarded the boat that was headed for America. After efficiently collecting their tickets, the ticket collector gave them entrance. Thekla and Siegfried positioned themselves at the railing and waved down at Meinrad as the boat honked with an almost deafening sound. They waved to one other for what seemed like an eternity until the boat started to move away from the Westhafen.
Meinrad, at last able to let his tears fly down his face, stood by himself and wept softly, his palm over his mouth to block out the sound of his sobbing. He tried to stop the tears, but they just wouldn't stop, a never-ending flow that reflected how deeply saddened he was. Meinrad stood there at that very moment, facing the crushing truth that their situation would inevitably lead to this.
Now, he was all alone.
●
Meinrad found himself aimless and adrift a few years after the last of his family left for America. On September 8, 1933, at the age of eighteen, desperate for safety and with nowhere else to turn, he enlisted in the Reichswehr. Desperation, together with a need for regular meals and a roof over his head, led him to make the decision. Meinrad felt completely lost without his mother, father, or any other examples to look up to. He was unable to find work anywhere, not even in Berlin, so he took sanctuary in the armed forces. On May 21, 1935, the Reichswehr changed its name to the Wehrmacht, which marked a dramatic turn in his life's path. This shift, which altered Meinrad's future in ways he could not have predicted, came at the same time as he began to realize that a world war was imminent.
In the silent depths of his isolation, Meinrad came to the startling understanding that he was alone and that nobody in the world bothered to care about him or even acknowledge his existence.
He struggled with a strong sense of loneliness as a result of his siblings moving to America and the lack of family connections. The idea that he had turned into a lonely man in a world devoid of comfort or company appeared to be confirmed with every day that went by. His sense of reality became more and more distorted due to the burden of loneliness on his back.
Meinrad's journey through the Wehrmacht took an unexpected turn during those years. Motivated more by a need to fit in than by a deep-seated conviction for the cause, his diligence allowed him to rise the ranks.
His journey for acceptance turned into a profound metamorphosis—he had developed a remarkable skill set, both mental and physical. The boy had grown from being a weakling to a large, burly man, an ode to the hard conditions he had to endure in the armed forces. Meinrad's journey not only developed his physical attributes but also refined his tactical and mental abilities. His earlier innocence was obscured by an aloof, indifferent manner that concealed the underlying fragility. Though a tiny bit of the innocent boy remained, it was hardly seen; it was only visible to those who were lucky enough to be regarded as either friends or unfortunate enemies facing certain death at his hands. The harsh reality of war had overshadowed Meinrad's modest demeanor, and death had become a common companion, greeted with a stoic acceptance honed over years of unrelenting fighting and carnage.
Meinrad had changed completely; there was no denying that he was no longer the innocent boy he had once been. He was no longer the innocent child he once was; his years of combat had shaped him into an imposing presence. One unanswered question tarried in the ether as the battle dust fell about Meinrad: Did he take comfort in the man he had become?